Eventually the days clicked by, and she found herself going through all her clothes early Friday night. Short skirt? Skimpy vest top? ‘Come on girl, you’re not going to a club!’ she hissed to herself. ‘It’s just two people sitting around, talking about music.’ Anyway, Mum’s friends would know something was up if she turned up dressed to the nines – so, jeans and a band t shirt it was. The tightest jeans she had though… After the adults had left, and everything gradually died down in the house – and she’d read their favourite story five times – the kids were silent at last. Eventually Diane heard a faint knock on the door. It was a slightly quirky ‘architect designed’ house, and the front door was down a short flight of stairs. Diane opened it, to see Paul grinning sheepishly, clutching a bag full of records to his chest. ‘Hiya, come on in, but be quiet till we get to the kitchen,’ she half whispered. He stepped in, and silently pulled the big door shut behind him. Diane turned and. I grabbed up the loose material and went to the familyroom. Dad saw me, choked a bit, but said nothing as I sat down. Mom told me to cover up and remained silent. Both of them had a grim look on their faces, and I feared I had screwed up somehow. Nothing more was said and I went to bed. In the morning I told mom I would try and manage by myself. I put on clean panties, then the padded pantybrief, the waist nipper, pantyhose, and a clean bra. I did my own makeup, just foundation and eyeliner. I brushed out my hair and slipped the dress over my head, struggling with the zipper up the back until I figured it out. I wore the same short black heels because those were the only shoes I had. Mom wanted to help, but I once again sent her away and put on the earrings, added a dash of perfume, and pink lipstick, then joined her at the breakfast table. I clearly looked better, but I think it was because I had settled things in my own mind. I really didn't look better, I felt better. "You look.
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